No Shame in Femenism

Other men might respond by saying: Okay, this is interesting, but I don’t think like that. I don’t even think about gender. Maybe not. And that is part of the problem. That many men do not actively think about gender or notice gender.

― Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, We Should All Be Feminists

I can practically feel the communal eye roll of my entire generation of fellow females, but just hear me out! Yes, I support the feminist causes. Of course, I believe women should be able to get paid the same amount as a man for equal work, there isn’t a doubt in my mind that a a woman should also have control over her own body, and don’t even get me started on the fact that women who need a man in their lives to feel complete are only doing themselves a disservice. I am strong, empowered, and extremely capable with or without a man by my side. I can spend whole afternoons holding my own in intellectual battles and it is no secret that my favorite past time is playing soccer.

Shame is a double-edged lightsaber. A prominent ‘counter-feminist’ reminded me last week that feminists are not inured to this emotion. Yes, they feel shame; what is more, I wager that it is precisely this emotion that lubricates the mechanism of what passes for their minds. Their perpetual revolution – their unending scorched earth policy seeking the unfettered denigration of the male of the species is likely born of a compound mixture of maladaptive emotions (including shame.)

I say ‘shame on feminism’ for betraying women and turning them away from their pain, for offering them a ‘get out of jail free’ card whereby they were able to bypass the true hard work of authentic healing. I say ‘shame on you’ for holding out a promise to an entire generation of women and then reneging on that deal.

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